


Little to Tell

by Suzelle



Series: Onen i-Estel Edain [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Chance Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/pseuds/Suzelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thorin and Company arrive at the Last Homely House, Gilraen endeavors to stay out of their way. Yet by chance she encounters Bilbo Baggins, and finds common ground in the most unexpected places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little to Tell

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Bilbo’s viewing of the shards of Narsil in the Extended Edition of _The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey_ , this fic is technically movieverse, though if you want to believe that Elrond kept a Narsil in a creepy museum display until Aragorn came of age it could comply with book-canon as well :P. I have read many wonderful tales over the years of potential encounters in the backdrop of The Hobbit, and I owe a debt of gratitude to them all for inspiring me to create my own. With thanks to Cairistiona for answering all the random questions I had while writing this, and to Zopyrus for the beta.

T.A. 2941

Gilraen could not remember the last time visitors to Rivendell had caused such a commotion. The fact that Gandalf the Grey had returned to the Last Homely House was not so unusual, that he had brought thirteen dwarves and one hobbit with him generated no end of gossip amongst the people of Imladris. Elladan and Elrohir had shown up at her door the night that the company arrived, and the three of them quietly contrived an extended camping trip for Estel. The peredhil had been promising a summer adventure for the boy ever since the first thaw, so he hardly questioned their sudden departure, nor the fact that it coincided with the arrival of the most fascinating guests Elrond had hosted for five years at least. Gilraen herself endeavored to stay out of their way, not wishing to bother with the inevitable questions they would direct towards the only mortal woman dwelling in Imladris. 

And so it had been a quiet fortnight, dull in its own peaceful way. In some ways Gilraen welcomed the respite, but she was eager for her son’s return and for life to settle back into its normal routine. Certainly she was running out of ways to occupy her time—she had spent an exhausting morning helping Merineth reorganize the Dúnedain records for what felt like the dozenth time, and was perfectly content to leave her friend to her other duties in the archives while she spent the afternoon immersed in the new book she had found. 

She took the long way back to Elrond’s halls, reveling in the birdsongs of midsummer, before she settled herself in the small alcove where Elrond kept the shards of Narsil on display. She did not know why she returned to this room so often lately, for it always sparked a rather melancholic reflection upon her people’s hubris. Indeed, she did not entirely understand why Elrond felt the need to keep such a relic on exhibition for the world to see. She supposed it was meant to reflect the triumph of last great alliance between Elves and Men, but to her it only served as a reminder of the failings of her line, the actions of Isildur and all who had come since. Yet in the great irony of the Valar, it had become one of Estel’s favorite reading spots, and Gilraen supposed it was the reminder of her son more than anything that drew her here in his absence, however brief. She often wondered what went through her ten-year-old son’s mind as he gazed upon the sword that was his unknown birthright—and what he would think, the day the truth was finally revealed to him. 

She heard the faint patter of bare feet upon the stone floor, and she looked up from her book, thinking at first that her son had returned early to Imladris. Instead she found the hobbit—Baggins, had Lindir said?—climbing the steps to the alcove tentatively, his face alight with wonder. He glanced down at the shards of Narsil, though he afforded it less of the reverence that Gilraen was accustomed to seeing from the Elves and more of an awed curiosity, before looking behind him at the painting of Isildur’s defeat of Sauron. 

He turned slowly from the painting to the chair where Gilraen sat, and gave a small jump as he realized he was not the only person in the room. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he stammered out. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, my lady.” 

“It’s quite all right,” Gilraen gave a warm smile. “I find that I do more thinking than reading when I come up here, anyway…I would much rather have the company of others to distract me.” 

“Well, I’ve been told I’m good at distracting people,” the hobbit offered a shy smile in return, and extended his hand to her. “My name is Bilbo…Bilbo Baggins.” 

“Pleased to meet you, Bilbo Baggins,” Gilraen held out her own hand. “You may call me Gilraen.”

Bilbo shook her hand, before gesturing back to Narsil. “It’s a funny thing, a broken sword on display…I would think its rightful owner would want it fixed right away, or get rid of it if it’s beyond repair.” 

“Well, its rightful owner is currently in no position to be making decisions regarding its fate,” Gilraen closed the book in her lap. “It is called Narsil, the Sword that was Broken—it has a long list of bearers, and an even longer history. Perhaps some day it will be reforged, but until then Elrond feels it ought to be kept here in Rivendell.” 

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard its tale before,” Bilbo confessed. “It’s a shame, but I don’t know very much about the great histories of Elves and Men.”

“Well, I know little enough about the histories of the hobbits, so I suppose it is only fair.” Gilraen smiled. “My father was far more familiar with your folk—he used to tell me all manner of stories of his encounters with hobbits and other Men in Bree and the surrounding lands.” 

“Oh,” Bilbo said, “I’ve never made it as far as Bree. In fact, before this adventure, I had never made it very far from home at all.” 

“Had you not?” Gilraen asked. “What is it, then, that brings you to Rivendell now?” 

Bilbo gave a halfhearted shrug. “Gandalf asked me. I’ve been contracted as a burglar, you see, to help Thorin and the others on their quest. But I’m afraid I’ve been rather useless on this trip…and we have travelled so very far from home.” 

“I am sure you have been of far more use than you give yourself credit for. I have found it is difficult enough for us to recognize our own skills, until others point out their own value to us.” 

Bilbo let out a gloomy sigh. “So far, no one has pointed out their value to me. I am still not quite sure why I was brought along at all, and I haven’t really had a chance to prove myself.” 

“I cannot help with that,” Gilraen said gently, “but I do understand a little something of homesickness. I have dwelt here in Rivendell for nearly a decade, now, and there are still days when I miss my own home more than anything.” 

“You get homesick?” Bilbo asked with no small degree of astonishment. “Even here? You’re not happy in Rivendell?” 

Gilraen smiled. “To the contrary, Master Baggins. I have found more peace in these halls than I have anywhere else. But that does not mean I do not miss my family, or the familiarity of the lands where I spent my childhood. Strangely, it is the smell of pipe-weed that I miss more than anything…the Elves are not overly fond of it, but its smoke would fill many a home among my own people. 

“Well, that is one thing the Dwarves do not lack,” Bilbo said in relief, “nor Gandalf himself. And a good thing, too, otherwise I imagine I would be quite out of place!” 

“Well then, it seems you carry a bit of home with you,” Gilraen chuckled, “a small blessing that ought not to be discounted.” 

“I suppose not,” Bilbo said. “I can take comfort in small blessings, even when I’m wandering lost in strange lands.” 

Gilraen shook her head. 

“I doubt very much that you are lost, Master Baggins…not all who wander are. You may not yet know your purpose, but it will come in time, as all things do.” 

She gestured back to the sword. “If the history of Narsil has taught me anything, it is that nothing happens as expected. The blade was already broken when it performed its greatest deed—and some day it may perform greater ones yet. The most surprising events can bring light out of the shadows, Master Baggins. That much I have learned in my life.” 

“That’s a nice way to look at the world,” Bilbo smiled. “I will have to remember that, the next time I’m in poor spirits.” 

Something clattered in the distance, and Gilraen heard the sound of voices that certainly did not belong to Elves. Three dwarves passed through the the entrance to the hallway, chattering about the roasting meat they had smelled in the kitchens, and Bilbo turned, as if he suddenly remembered something he had forgotten. 

“I suppose I ought to head back,” he gestured toward the entrance to the alcove. “I wanted to try and explore the waterfalls before supper-time. Will I see you at any of the feasts before we leave, Lady Gilraen?”

“You may,” Gilraen answered, “I have never kept company with Dwarves before, and they are a curious bunch. But this might be our sole meeting. I have…friends returning from the country very soon, and I will likely be spending most of my time with them. Besides, I should not wish to disturb Master Elrond while he is hosting such a distinguished guest as Gandalf the Grey.” 

“Well, it was very nice to meet you,” Bilbo gave a little bow. “Perhaps I will see you again some day, if we stop this way on our return journey.” 

“That would be a delight,” Gilraen said. “I wish you good fortune in your thievery, Master Baggins. Mind, though, that you wait until you have left the valley to begin such practices. I have found that there is very little that escapes the notice of the Lord Elrond.” 

“Oh no, I would never!” Bilbo sputtered. “Elrond has been so kind to us, and—.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re having me on, aren’t you?” 

Gilraen’s eyes danced. “Go on your explorations, my dear hobbit. May your curiosity sustain you in your journeys ahead.” 

Bilbo waved as he left through the doorway, and Gilraen glanced once more at Narsil and the painting of Sauron’s fall. Isildur’s face, fearful and determined all at once, seemed to stare out at her against the stark grey of the battlefield.

 _What do they think when they look upon you, those who do not know your full story?_ she wondered. _Do they see only your triumphs, or do they ponder the consequences of that day?_

It was a question she supposed she should have asked Bilbo.


End file.
